


Things Hikaru Sulu knows

by cathouse_mary



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Combat, Explicit M/M Sex, F/M, Fellatio, Frottage, M/M, Pantsing, Voyeurism, evolving/established relationships, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/pseuds/cathouse_mary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the face of it, he strives to prove himself to a man long dead; measuring himself ruthlessly against the last eighteen minutes of his father's life, and finding himself ever wanting. Captain James T. Kirk has done more than his father could have imagined or accomplished. James has so many things that he is trying to prove to so many people that he can end up chasing his tail sometimes. Then comes the time when one must benevolently, with honor and utmost respect, kick the living crap out of him.</p><p>Written for Trek Reverse Bang 2010</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Hikaru Sulu knows

**Title:** Things Hikaru Sulu Knows  
 **Artist:** [](http://enkanowen.livejournal.com/profile)[**enkanowen**](http://enkanowen.livejournal.com/)  
 **Author:** [](http://cathouse-mary.livejournal.com/profile)[**cathouse_mary**](http://cathouse-mary.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating (both art/fic):** Fic is NC-17/M for sex, mature subject matter and profanity. Pics are PG and R, respectively  
 **Genre/Pairing:** Reboot Kirk/Sulu, hints of Spock/Uhura and some McCoy/Chekhov.  
 **Word Count:** 6,013 - so saith Google Documents.  
 **Warnings:** H/C, combat, evolving/established relationships, explicit m/m sex. Kinks - voyeurism, pantsing, frottage, fellatio.  
﻿ **Link to Art:** [over at **enkanowen** 's LJ](http://enkanowen.livejournal.com/583614.html#cutid1)

There are things that Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu knows that may be categorized thusly:

  

  * things that he is expected to know
  

  * things that he is not expected to know and knows anyway
  

  * things that he knows and should know better than to consider overmuch
  

  * things that he knows and should know better than he currently does
  

  * things that he knows and should not know at all
  

  * things that he knows despite not wishing to know
  

  * things that he knows and has known as long as he has been alive
  

  * things that he knows without knowing that he knows them
  



  
One thing he knows is that the strangest places one will ever visit are not alien worlds and new civilizations. No, not by the longest shot there is. The strangest places one will ever visit are within one's own self, in search of something deeper and in the finding of it. It is the only thing he knows that falls into all of the categories.

He knows discipline, and that it is not something that is or can be imposed from outside. He knows that it comes from within, from a will bent in submission to some concept greater than the self, born of an overwhelming desire to live within bounds that few would ever consider (or wish to), much less understand. Discipline is not a noun, nor a verb, but a philosophy, a calling, and a vocation.

It is Bushido.

The Seven Virtues of the code define his life; rectitude, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, honor and loyalty. They are greater than himself, and he bends to them, letting them shape him as the blades of his swords were shaped and tempered by fire and hammer. He is devoted to the practice. He lives and breathes it, or it lives and breathes through him. Sometimes it is hard to say.

James Kirk would profess not know or recognize any of this if it fell out of the sky, landed on his head and wiggled. He cheats, manipulates, lies, takes orders when he wants to, picks fights, shows his ass to authority, but loyal... yes, he is loyal. And courageous. Hikaru can give him that much from his experience on Vulcan and after, and that he can give generously.

How many men would dive into the mouth of hell after a man he hadn't even known for twenty minutes?

In the rare reflective moments one can have on the bridge, Hikaru can almost see a longing in Kirk for that something greater, but not being given to self-reflection (which is putting it mildly), Kirk cannot see that for himself. Hikaru looks at the people Kirk has chosen for his command crew, and he can see the seven values they embody. James Kirk has surrounded himself with that which he believes he lacks, and Hikaru would bet his katana and wakizashi that he doesn't even know it.

 _But let's face it, Hikaru: This is a man who cheats at blow-jobs._

He uses too much teeth, and then looks up with a 'who, me?' face. It's an expression that's all but begging for some sternly-imposed limits and a stiff lesson. And he really should not allow James Kirk, blow-jobs, and the various applications of stiff to cross his mind at the same time.

Nonetheless, Hikaru thinks that James as has failed in knowing himself. On the face of it, he strives to prove himself to a man long dead, measuring himself ruthlessly against the last eighteen minutes of his father's life and finding himself ever wanting. Captain James T. Kirk has done more than his father could have imagined or accomplished.

He is the youngest captain in Starfleet, and he commands the newest vessel with a handpicked crew that is his free of political dealing.  The crew is loyal, bound to their captain and he to them in ways that can only be forged though circumstance. Starfleet is over a barrel, simultaneously in awe of what James Kirk has accomplished and nail-spitting mad that they can't control him - calling him either the greatest tactical genius in centuries, or demeaning their first mission as one lucky shot.

James as Captain and as Jim Kirk has so many things that he is trying to prove to so many people that he can end up chasing his tail sometimes. He can be distracted, moody, self-destructive, and to put in charitably, intellectually absent. And then...

Then comes the time when one must benevolently, with honor and utmost respect, kick the living crap out of him. It's the reset button, and it levels him out, yanks him out of whatever spiral his in, and reminds him that there are eight hundred lives under that command chair and as Dr. McCoy would say, "Don't sweat the small shit."

Today, it's all small shit.

The main shift is winding down on a routine patrol along the edge of Klingon space. Even if the Klingons are down forty-seven capital class ships, they still like to jab at the Federation every now and then.

"Fencing."

Hikaru looks up, finding himself the focus of those unsettling blue eyes. "Captain?"

"When we first met, Lieutenant, you told me that your close combat training was in fencing."

You can bet Hikaru remembers that. "Yes, sir."

The captain leans forward, arms crossed and resting elbows on knees. "Why did you do that?"

"To mess with your head, Captain."

Predictably, that little exchange puts James on the simmer. If there is going to be a messer-with-of-heads, it is going to be James Tiberius Kirk. It chafes him like sandpaper underwear, Hikaru can tell. Worse, since James is now the actual captain of the Enterprise, Captain James Kirk cannot and must not lay on an elaborate prank that wouldn't give a gleeful Loki like Jim Kirk a second of hesitation.

Getting what you wish for can be a double edged sword that way.

So it comes down to a little private betting and braggadocio in the turbolift after their relief takes over. It's to be a private practice room, the two of them, and their chosen styles of combat. Which is to say, Hikaru's martial arts versus James' advanced standing in the ancient school of Iowa Haymaker bar-room fighting.

"Bones says if you bash me up too badly, he'll make your next physical extremely unpleasant." James takes off his Captain Face as soon as the door closes.

Hikaru smiles and flicks a verbal barb, "It's good to know that Dr. McCoy has such faith in me, James. I won't do anything too permanent." He catches the twitch in James' cheek, the gleam in his eye as he pulls up the hood of his practice suit.

"Don't get cocky, Hikaru."

Because who knows cocky like James Kirk?

Bowing James onto the mat, Hikaru helps him along with a bare foot to the back of his head, and then it's on. There is no such thing as personal space, no tactic too dirty, no weapon on the practice room walls that is barred from use. At some point, James is biting his ass though the seat of his practice pants while Hikaru does something surpassingly rude to the area above James' left kidney. Were it not for the impact-dispersing practice suits, they'd be in the decidedly un-tender care of Dr. McCoy three or four times over.

Action, reaction, counter - combat becomes as instinctual as breathing, as unconscious as knowing how to walk, run, and jump. Past a certain point of experience and training, the body just does what it must do, calculating each move from the opponent's, feinting, shunting, or meeting blow for blow. In this, James' chaotic Iowa Haymaker 'fire everything!' is as much a match for Hikaru's training in Aikido, Tahib, and other arts. But bladework...

James should have just left the bat'leth alone. Even starting young, it's hard to learn single-blade, or sword and main-gauche, but the Klingon blade was made for someone growing up at 1.5 Terran gravities and taught the blade from the the cradle or shortly thereafter. James Kirk is many things, but when it comes to bladework, Hikaru is sometimes left wondering how he butters his toast without eviscerating himself. It is Hikaru's fond hope that Dr. McCoy will focus on long term results and not a present beatdown, and if James cuts off something important, that the learned doctor will be able to stick it back on.

"James?" Hikaru deadpans. "Size doesn't always matter."

Bat'leth are not meant to be twirled, but somehow James does it without amputating anything he'll need later, and charges. Hikaru avoids it neatly, spinning behind James and giving him a poke in the glutes in retribution for the bite earlier.

Then he trips him and then moves in for the kill.

However, James' big ugly foot intersects him at a particularly vulnerable and painful point, causing Hikaru to administer a kiss of the Glasgow variety - forehead (his) to nose (James') - while James is on the way up and he is on the way down.

Hikaru hopes his balls and James' nose will forgive him soon.

~

Leonard paces behind another Young Genius in a crew full of Young Geniuses. This one's prettier than most, but at times Nyota can make her Vulcan boyfriend seem... flighty.

"Come on, Nyota," Leonard urges. "You can do everything up to and including making that console roll over, sit up and beg."

"Yes, Leonard, and right now it's playing dead." Frowning, she tracks the disjuncture in the practice deck's comm system. "It appears that the practice rooms' surveillance is offline and has been since repair dock."

Spock - another Young Genius - hovers over Nyota's shoulder, less concerned with practice room 5-Beta than with non-functioning systems. "Doctor, I fail to see the logic in spying on the captain and Lieutenant Sulu despite their stated and explicit wishes for privacy."

Leonard lets the silence stretch as Spock continues to look at him expectantly. Young Geniuses. God help him. "Spock?"

"Yes, Leonard?"

"Hush now. Nyota's working."

~

"Sorry, Hikaru. Did you plan on using those tonight?"

Jim rolls to his feet, simultaneously feeling guilty and smug. His face pounds as if it's been hit with a sledgehammer, but he really has to admit that he earned that one. He is also more than a bit concerned, as whatever he and Hikaru have between them is still too new to be well defined and they are both occasionally uncertain with each other. Once the Captain Face comes off, Jim knows that Hikaru is one of the few who will treat him like Jim Kirk; one few the few that Jim knows he can trust come hell or high water. What he's not certain of is just how far he can push it, and he knows that he has a talent for pushing it way, way too far.

Hikaru's reply puts his knee out from under him, and he overbalances catching himself just in time for repayment in kind: a foot to the balls. He had been hoping to use those tonight! Through the throbbing red haze of pain, he tries to aim an elbow at Hikaru's solar plexus.

It turns into an all out 'rassle', dirty-style, no holds barred and goddamn his dick really needs to stay out of this, but it isn't. Hikaru is not his first male sexual partner, and at some point Jim's little head starts to think that all this sliding around, grappling, gripping, poking and biting is some kind of freaking amazing foreplay - just no more ball-kicking, please. The hoods come off, and somehow Jim's shirt disappears without him being able to say just how that happened. He tries yanking Hikaru's shirt up to entrap his arms and blind him, wincing a little at the bruising on Hikaru's torso. Man, but that's going to color up later.

Hikaru's legs tangle with his as he struggles in the shirt, and then they are rolling across the floor to the boundary sensors.

"Oh, no. Not going to happen. You want to win, win hard!" Jim flips them back the other way, rolling them back to the center of the room, his erection grinding against Hikaru's. Jesus. He wonders if a bout has ever been called on account of mutual ejaculation.

~

Nyota can feel her eyebrows rise into her hairline. "Wow." Two sweating men. No shirts. Skin tight practice pants. Rolling on the floor, either wrestling or engaging in frottage.

Pavel leans in, partially blocking her view until she pushes him out of the way. "Is that wrestling or foreplay?"

Spock turns the visual off.

McCoy turns it back on.

Spock turns it off again.

It is not a well known or often observed happening, but Vulcans can blush. "Doctor, I see no reason to satisfy your prurient curiosity-"

"I'm looking out for him, Spock." Leonard has had to patch up the captain for being the captain and Jim Kirk for being Jim Kirk. "You know how things can get out of hand."

Spock shifts on his feet, very obviously out of his comfort zone. Human - specifically Terran - sexual practices such as voyeurism are a mystery to him. Vulcans are deeply and intensely private about sexual and emotional matters. In fact, their courtship was the subject of extensive treatises by both sides. The conclusion: it was logical for them to further investigate their levels of attraction upon the cessation of the instructor-to-student relationship.

Nyota turns the visual off and removes her earpiece. "The system is repaired, and I'll note it in my shift report, Commander."

A subtle shift from personal to professional footing, and Spock gives her an equally subtle nod of gratitude. "Noted, Ensign Uhura."

He turns slightly toward the door of the practice deck comm station. They can both leave the awkwardness of the current peccadillo, the better to continue their own.

~

"Hey! HEYHEYHEY! What the hell do you think you're d-"

Hikaru moves his hand and Jim freezes so hard he stops breathing. While Hikaru's right arm is around Jim's waist, the left is burrowing quickly into his pants halfway to Hikaru's armpit. There are tender parts there, and a very telltale erection - and Jim is worried about the potential holds that might involve said erection or his poor, pounded balls.

Jim's dick, however, thinks that this is the best idea that anyone has had all day. It's completely on board with the whole idea. Whatever the idea is, Jim's dick wishes to register unqualified approval - just a bit more to the left.

"This isn't ninjitsu, Hikaru." He's never heard of the ninja pants hold.

"No. Not ninjitsu." Despite the panting, Jim can hear the smile Hikaru is wearing.

"Aikido?"

"Not that either."

"MCMAP?" It's a twentieth century North American discipline, but there's every chance that Hikaru might have studied it.

"Nope."

"Krav Maga?" It's still practiced by some local defense forces in Mediterranea.

"No. You still have your balls. Krav Maga is big on preemptive strikes"

"Well, thank you so much. Are you going to tell me just what you're doing, or do I just sit there with your hand down my pants while you let me name every martial arts discipline I've got one for?" Jim pauses. "Not that I am not just fine with your hand down my pants."

"Oh, don't let me interrupt. I'm fine with my hand down your pants, too."

Jim tries to buck him off, twist out of the hold, and frog-kick; all to no avail. That arm down his pants keeps him in place. "Bastard. Karate? No, it's not karate. Lucha libre? Could you move your hand more to the left? A little friction would be nice."

Hikaru sounds smug. "Sorry, that's against the rules."

Wait. Hang on. Just one minute here. "There's an actual rule that lets you put your _whole arm_ down my _pants_?"

~

James actually sounds scandalized. Hikaru snickers. "Yağlı güreş." A bout of bucking and twisting ensues, and Hikaru makes use of it to bring James' pants down over his hip bones. "It's an ancient and respectable form of oil wrestling practiced in ethnic Turkish enclaves."

"Hikaru? In Iowa, oil wrestling is and ancient and respectable art of separating a man from his money, practiced in hick bars by women wearing rhinestoned bikinis." And James sounds as if he should know.

"In yağlı güreş, there are a variety of ways to win. The first way is to expose the bellybutton, simple as that." He does let his finger circle James' navel, catching the quick intake of breath, the near-quiver in the abdominal muscles, and savors it. "There's the crushing pin, the flipping pin, even a carrying pin where one wins by carrying one's opponent for five steps."

"Yeah? Any rules about some friendly friction? Christ, just a little hand action?"

James is hard enough to cut diamonds and Hikaru is coping with issues of diverted blood flow himself. "You can't grab the junk or bother his anus in the bout."

"Could I a get a demonstration of those fouls?" James asked disingenuously.

"No. Sorry."

"That's no fun!"

"But there are two other ways to win, one opponent can just give up - submit, surrender."

"Not on your best day-"

"Or one opponent removes the other's kisbet."

"A kisbet being?"

"Pants."

"Pa- AUGH!"

~

Pavel had honestly paid for worse entertainment at the peek-shows of the Tenderloin when still at Starfleet Academy. "It is foreplay."

Hand down the pants. Plenty of grinding going on. Hikaru licking the Captain's shoulder and trying to flip him right out of his pants.

Dr. McCoy rolls his eyes. "You're seventeen-"

"Eighteen, Doctor! Just last week."

"Eighteen and what the hell do you know about foreplay, kid?"

"... theory." All right. He can admit it.

Dr. McCoy gives him a considering look. "Any practical experience? Have you actually applied any of that theory?"

Pavel considers the doctor. "Do you mean with someone else?"

"Yes."

"Well. Actually? No." Pavel rallies, leaning a little closer. "But they are the wery latest theories and I have examined them wery carefully."

"Cite your sources, kid."

~

For the first time in his life, or for the first time since the onset of puberty, Jim Kirk finds himself fighting with everything he has in order to keep his pants on. This despite the fact that he dearly and sincerely wishes to take them off, get Hikaru out of his pants and-

He wants to win more.

And he really needs to figure out just what he wants to win, while he's at it.

Hikaru's hard as a rock against Jim's ass, and damn it, they both want the same thing - to win and to come their brains out. Mutual benefit = Non Zero Sum Game = Gain/Gain.

To think that Spock expressed skepticism about his grasp of game theory.

But sometimes in order to win in one place, you have to lose in another - something he's not sure that Spock has considered.

"So, Hikaru, what happens if both wrestlers lose their drawers?" Jim has his hands free, and hooks one back, catching the waistband of Hikaru's pants as a low chuckle answers the question. Both can lose with honor intact, and Jim finds himself oddly reluctant to do anything that would cause Hikaru to lose face, even in private. Maybe, sometimes, getting the most obvious win comes at a cost he doesn't want to pay.

Besides, tearing the pants off each other? That sounds like terrific fun.

At least it does now that they have both tacitly agreed to 'lose' the bout.

From there, it's all scuffle and grab-ass. Waistbands are tugged lower and lower with occasional nipple-fouling and some very long interludes where they forget to do anything at all but kiss. Losing or winning - who cares when it feels this good? So that's why men have nipples. Will have to remember that...

"Supposed to be getting the pants off, Hikaru."

"Uh-huh."

Fingers in his waistband and damn but Hikaru can kiss - and it's just right, a little rough, a little aggressive and a lot hot and-

Hikaru drops, taking Jim's pants with him, and whatever protest Jim was about to make dies when Hikaru gets his mouth on him. There's too much hot/wet/good/more around him for him to even decide if he has lost through losing his pants or if he has won by getting an amazing blow-job. Instead, he slides his fingers through Hikaru's hair and gives a groan of unabashed appreciation, watching as Hikaru does things with his mouth that look as sensational as they feel. Silk and velvet can't compare to the smooth wet heat of tongue and flesh, and there's just an edge of teeth to send a shiver up his spine as they graze his glans.

Win. Lose. Whatever.

Jim decides to just call it even because Hikaru has just depantsed himself and now they're both naked and it's all kinds of good. Good to put hands all over him, and good to get down on the warm, padded floor with him. Good to kiss him, get kissed by him, good to press together skin to skin, and it's good not to be captain and lieutenant, just Jim and Hikaru. The practice room is soundproofed, the door is locked, and for once maybe they can take their time. It's not a bed, and there's no handy slippery stuff, but they're a lot less likely to be bothered here than in their quarters and nobody to see who's coming or going.

They can fit together, taste each other, and they fit so well. It's hot, sliding together, rubbing against skin damp with sweat, being mindful of their poor, contused balls. Funny how everything they do with each other feels so right, gets him off with such sublime perfection that he's Sunny Jim for days afterward.

Jim slides down, nuzzling and licking his way down Hikaru's chest and abdomen, apologizing for the bruises and then making a brief outrage of Hikaru's navel with his tongue. He notes for further exploration that Hikaru is ticklish, and also giggles. Then it's ground zero, and Jim licks Hikaru's cock like it's a Creamsicle from the county fair, then looking up to see Hikaru watching him. It gives Jim an unexpectedly hot jolt, and he gives a long, slow lick over Hiraku's glans, teasing the foreskin back and slowly lapping again before drawing it into his mouth.

Hikaru's eyes go a little glassy and his head hits the padding with a thump. "Hellyeah..."

Well. Progress. Jim decides not to race for the finish this time, but to give Hikaru a personal best, since they have both the time and the privacy. He's not exactly unaware that at times he's treated Hikaru rather poorly in that respect. It's something he ought to remedy, Jim thinks guiltily, as Hikaru has never stinted him in that department.

He wants it to be really good because, when you get right down to it, Jim wants Hikaru to keep coming back.

~

Hikaru wants to watch, to see what James is going, but all he can do is arch against the padding and make an utterly undignified gurgling sound. It's that good. When he can divert a brain cell to think about it, it comes to him that James is as much a prodigy at blow-jobs as Pavel is at mathematics, or Nyota at languages, or Spock at chess.

And if James thinks he can ever get away with the quick and dirty race to the finish again, he's got another think coming. James has just raised the bar on himself again. It's long and slow, deep and intense, almost no teeth and Hikaru can feel the heat coiling up tight in the small of his back, in the cradle of his pelvis. He's panting, fingers scrabbling to hold on and hold back when James suddenly takes him clear to the root, pressing and nudging a spot right at the back of his balls.

"Jaaaames..." He gives a try at a warning before his orgasm crests and rolls over him like a big wave off Ocean Beach. It's enough to curl his toes, make him shout and jolt. James swallows him down and he knows there's something odd because James never swallows and he really really hopes that soundproofing wasn't done on low bid.

When Hikaru can raise his head again James is looking up at him and licking his lips, the very image of someone who's made the grade and knows it.

And something else.

He can't put his finger on it, putting it aside for now to pull James closer.

"Mm. Didn't spare a hand for yourself, did you?" Hikaru closes his hand around James' cock, giving a squeeze and a slow stroke with a twist at the tip, nudging at balls drawn tight. "Come on, let me treat you right..." He bends, changing their positions so that James is the one watching, propped on elbows as Hikaru takes him in his mouth.

James groans that he was only swallowing the evidence, elbows going out from him as Hikaru hums his amusement. It would seem that James is learning discretion, though he's pent up enough that Hikaru is swallowing a rush of bittersalt in just a few short minutes.

James' fingers card his hair with an almost tentative touch, stroke his cheek. "I... um. I want a rematch."

Hikaru almost laughs. "What? Already?"

"No, no! I mean that I wasn't at my best and um... next time we'll try this with the oil, all right?"

Hikaru sits next to him, chuckling. "Yeah, but where to find olive oil in Laurentian space?"

"We can find a substitute." James' elbow jostles his, then he twines his arm through Hikaru's. "I'd be willing to bet that Bones will know something we could use."

Hikaru has no idea what they're doing, or where it's going to go, if indeed it is going to go anywhere. There is, however, one thing that he does know and that is James Kirk is someone he'd go with anywhere. Lover, or captain, or brother in arms, it makes no difference.

"Let's shower up, James." The name is strange but good in his mouth; he doesn't say James' name often as he thinks it. "Before the good doctor blows a gasket waiting for us." If Dr. McCoy is not outside the door, hovering like an anxious hound as he waits to whisk them off to sick bay, Hikaru will eat his boots.

"Yeah. He's not going to be happy with us." James rolls to his feet and gives him a hand up, both of them wincing and groaning now that they've had a chance to cool down.

Bruises are coloring, while stressed and pulled muscles are starting to ache, and it's only by pure luck that James' nose isn't broken, only bloodied. They pick up their clothing from around the room. James' shirt is again a total loss; it happens every time and they have no idea how.

~

Bones is mellow and Jim is bemused. Bones is never mellow. Ever. Not unless he's on Earth with a nice bourbon easy to hand and a prospect of no flight anywhere whatsoever for at least a week.

Hiraku exchanges a quizzical look with him over Bones' shoulder. He doesn't get it either.

It's not that Bones is not being caustic about their 'damnfool antics and testosterone levels more suited to blue-nosed baboons.' Even mellow, Bones is still caustic and they are getting their accustomed earful. It's just that it's at a much lower volume and with about twenty-five percent less profanity.

Jim's nose is not broken 'by the grace of God', but he's got a minor tear in the rotor cuff of his left shoulder. Hikaru has pulled something called the abductor brevis and that's why he was barely able to walk here. It's apparently attached to the pubic bone and goddamnit what were you two clowns doing in there?

But there's still that mellowness, and he's damned if he can figure it out. On first instinct, James would have to say that Bones got laid or at the very least a good hand-job, and he mentally riffles though the dossiers of his crew, trying to come up with a hit as Bones pokes and prods.

The bruises get a rub to dissipate the damage into the bloodstream and out via the kidneys. Jim's rotor cuff gets a support and temporary carbon 'trellis' that will give it a path to heal on. Hikaru's pulled thigh muscle gets a heat wrap, a shot of muscle relaxant, and an injunction to 'not go at it like a pair of elephant seals.'

Bones knows the score, and however he knows, he'll be as discreet as they are just so long as they have some sense. Jim helps Hikaru back to his room, wearing the Captain Face just long enough to make sure that there's nobody looking when he promises to come back later.

~

Nyota is not listening in as Leonard speaks with Spock; she's busy tuning her new eighteen string Andorran harp. It's just that the words 'idiots' and 'aberrant sexual practices' come up fairly often and at a slightly higher volume. Spock points out to Leonard that plenty of species employ close combat as part of the mating ritual, and that the injuries incurred seem to be of a less serious nature than they are inconvenient.

"So long as neither renders the other incapable of performing their duties, I see no reason that this affiliation should not continue to progress," Spock said. "Hikaru Sulu and James Kirk are adults by all the cultural and legal definitions of your species and capable of, if you will forgive the expression, conducting their own affairs with discretion."

The argument is remarkably similar to the one on which their own courtship is based.

Spock was expecting an argument from Leonard, who is as contentious as they come, but surprisingly none is forthcoming. Leonard is quiet and introspective, frowning into his Eridani flowering tea, bidding them a good night a short time later.

~

His quarters are quiet, and Leonard considers his own predicament over the rim of his Centauri whiskey horn. All these Young Geniuses. He's thirty-two, but sometimes they make him feel as old as the hills.

"As some great man once said: it's not the years, it's the mileage." He tips his glass back and swallows a bit of sweet fire.

When it comes to the affairs of the heart and other portions of the anatomy, he feels like the ruins of old Interstate 80. That's a lot of miles.

Pavel is a nice kid. A nice young kid almost half his age and one who certainly doesn't deserve the baggage that Leonard knows he's carrying. But the thing about Young Geniuses, and nice young kids, is that they are damnably hard to dissuade once embarked on a course of action.

Spock is not much help, mostly because Nyota has him comfortably buffaloed, and well-paired mates have a tendency to favor pairings-off. Leonard has to smile; Spock has the rank, but off the bridge Nyota's the shot-caller of the pair. It's not a bad way to work.

The soft chime of the comm interrupts his whiskey assisted ruminations; a message and file are pending. Curious, he sets down the horn and activates the screen, then snorts as he reads the origin and header aloud.

"Ensign Pavel A. Chekhov: Source material and citations as per earlier discussion."

He opens the file and laughs out loud. It's a collection of the better class of pornography, left-handed literature, and lad-mag 'how-to' tips that have been circulating for about four hundred years. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Pavel needs some medically sound guidance before he injures himself.

"First off, kid, the prostate just does not work that way." Leonard gathers himself and begins to prepare his presentation on 'Why You Should Not Do That With Your Rectum,' to be followed by 'What Can and Cannot Be Used As Lubrication,' and 'Things That Should Not Be Ever Inserted Into Your Urethra.'

This was going to be, against his expectations, a whole lot of fun.

'Buckle up' indeed.

~

James does come back later, when Hikaru's corridor is darkened to simulate night, and he comes bearing gifts. Specifically, he comes bearing chocolate ice cream. Two heaping bowls of it. There are people on this ship who would do in Admiral Archer himself for a bowl of chocolate ice cream.

And Hiraku should know, simply because he's one of them.

Starfleet rations are laboratory researched and carefully processed so that each crew member receives the full complement of their required vitamins, minerals, phytochemicals, essential fatty and amino acids, and other micronutrients in a calculated distribution of calories. It would work better if it tasted and smelled like food.

It would work better if it tasted and smelled, period.

"How?" Hikaru's mouth is literally watering. He can smell the chocolate from the bed.

James shrugs and will only say that rank has its privileges. If a captain and decorated hero wants a small cold storage chest in his quarters stocked with beer and ice cream, well, Hikaru supposes that there are commanding officers out there with much more exotic and far less benign tastes. The bowl is placed in his reverent hands, and silence reigns (but for some low moaning) as the ice cream is consumed as they sit on Hikaru's bed.

"How's the leg?"

"It's better. The heat and the muscle relaxant really helped a lot." Hikaru is intent on getting every last drip of ice cream. "How's the shoulder?"

"Tolerable. Itches, but it's better." James looks him over again. "How banged up are you, under the Patented McCoy Hyperbole?"

Flexing his leg cautiously, Hikaru 'listens' for the movements in the muscle. "Not too badly. A few days rest and massage ought to get me back on track. How about you?"

"I won't be throwing for the Dubuque Twisters any time soon." James eyes him, giving him that intense argon-blue gaze. "Massage, though. That I can do something about."

Hikaru arches an eyebrow just his smaller head wakes up and decides that getting his pants off and James' hands on him is an idea that might just be better than the chocolate ice cream.

"I'm a man of many talents, Hikaru!" James pauses and then turns on the grin. "And I'm not going to lie, I like getting my hands on you; without and even with pants."

Hey, first names. They're making some progress here. Where James is slick, glib, and cocky with anything female, it's been the opposite with Hikaru. James walks like a man treading new and uncertain terrain. not sure where putting the next foot is going to land him. It dawns, slowly,  on Hikaru that he's being courted.

Courted assbackwards and awkwardly, but he is being courted.

"Yeah?" Oh, smooth Hikaru. Good going, there. Pavel would have done better.

James' response is anything but slick, glib, and cocky. "Yeah. A lot."

It doesn't go against the code by which Hikaru has decided to live. It doesn't even go against the code of Starfleet, which figures that so long as rank is not abused and duties performed that consenting adults are just that, and should be left to conduct themselves accordingly. They are graduates of one of the most exacting institutions in known civilizations, officers on the premier ship of the line; they ought to be able to figure this out.

Well, at least there's enough awkwardness to go around. Hikaru finds that an unexpected relief. "We can work with that. If you want to."

It might be a bit trite to say it, but James really can light up a room with his smile. "Yeah. We can work with that."

~ End


End file.
